Maria drummed her fingers lightly against the table. “Oh. She wanted to make her some kind of anniversary blanket? Like, with a different-colored row for every week they’ve been together. But I don’t know where she thinks she’d be able to hide something like that.” She shrugged. “It’s always like this. She has these grand ideas. Eventually, she’ll hit on something that can be made more possible.”
“A blanket sounds pretty fun,” I commented. “And relies less on you meeting a celebrity chef on the side of a road.” It was, of course, possible. But in the few months I’d known Maria, she was yet to meet another famous person on the side of a road. Or, as far as I knew, any person at all.
Our food arrived then, distracting us from the conversation about Tanya’s ambitious gift ideas. This time around it was me who ordered the shchavel borscht. I tucked into it with gusto.
“How’s work?” I asked, after a few spoonfuls. I was sure that I could set us back on the right track talking about Maria’s work.
“It’s good,” Maria answered. “I have a new client, so I’ve been looking over her financial history.” She grinned at me over her solyanka. “That may not sound as exciting as winning an ice hockey match, but it’s my kind of thrill,” she teased. While I didn’t understand what Maria did, I could tell that she enjoyed it.
Taking a spoonful of her soup, Maria made appreciative noises, loud enough that I was sure Anya would be able to hear them from where she was hovering, trying to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping. “The client has tried a few different advisors and hasn’t clicked with any of them. I’ve met her and she doesn’t seem difficult to work with. I’m hoping it’s just a chemistry thing and I’ll be the right match.”
Honestly, I struggled to imagine how someone might not be the right sort of match with Maria. She was easy to get along with. The ease with which we had made friends was sure to illustrate that. “I like watching you talk about your work,” I told her honestly. “And hearing it, but your face lights up so much when financial advisory is involved,” I teased.
It really was true. Maria obviously loved her job. There was something nice about seeing that. I rarely saw that level of passion outside of hockey. “What would you have done if not this?” I asked, the same way she had asked me a while back.
She swirled her spoon through her soup, chasing an olive. “There’s a lot of different things I could have done,” she mused. “Being good with numbers is a very ‘transferable skill’, as our recruitment team would put it.”
I nodded. I had never had to engage with resumes and find a job the more traditional way. In a way, I was glad. At least I got to prove I was good at hockey by playing hockey. I didn’t have to also be good at talking about it.
“I could have gone into payroll,” Maria decided. “You know, making sure that a company’s employees are paid on time and that their records are in order. It’s not as varied as what I do now, but I would have been good at it.”
She paused, her expression thoughtful. I was too busy with my borscht to jump in with a new topic straight away. Besides, we were good enough friends by now that a silence between us didn’t need to be uncomfortable.
“Do you really like hearing about my work?” Maria asked. “Or do you just not want to talk about whatever is bothering you?”
That made me frown. It was true that I’d brought it up because I didn’t want us to dwell on Kira and stuff I’d rather not talk about. But I also did like hearing about Maria’s work. Not because I understood it but because it mattered to her.
“Yeah, of course, I like hearing about your work,” I answered, setting my spoon down. “I told you that I don’t want to talk about what happened.” I would’ve argued that it didn’t bother me but Maria would probably disagree, so I didn’t. “So what? We can’t talk about something else?”
Annoyance swirled within me. I didn’t want to argue with Maria. I also didn’t want to talk about Kira and the way I always rushed off when she called. It wasn’t something I was proud of. I’d prefer Maria did not know that.
Maria’s spoon joined mine on the table, both of our soups momentarily forgotten. “I didn’t say that we couldn’t talk about something else,” she pointed out. “I was just asking.” My own annoyance seemed reflected in her tone.
She paused, watching me with a serious expression. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me. I’m your friend, Lev. When you rush off and then you say you don’t want to talk about it, I worry about you.”
I didn’t need Maria to worry about me. If anything, it made me feel worse. Guilt pooled low in my stomach at the thought. She wasn’t supposed to worry about me. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t just take my word for it, accept that I was fine. I’d dealt with this plenty of times before. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it.
“Well, don’t,” I said finally. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I told you I don’t want to talk about it, why can’t you just respect that?”
She leaned back as if she’d felt my words as a physical blow. “I’m not -” Maria pressed her lips together, her mouth disappearing into a thin line. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just turn off worrying.”
I didn’t see why not. I was there, I was fine. All I wanted was not to talk about Kira!
Maria sighed, picking up her spoon. She trailed it aimlessly through her soup, the silence seeming to thicken the longer it went on.
“Have you read any good books?” she asked me in Russian. It was probably one of the conversational phrases she had learned from her language app. But at least it was something that didn’t relate to Kira.
A spiteful part of me wanted to just say no, to make this even more awkward. But that was petty and I knew it. It wasn’t the sort of person I wanted to be. Maria certainly didn’t deserve it. So I let her change the topic, taking my time in answering slowly about whatever sports book I had just finished.
She almost definitely didn’t care for the content, but it got her practicing her Russian and it got me not talking about shit I didn’t want to talk about.
The rest of the dinner was a bit... weird. It was probably the most stilted our conversation had ever been. I knew it was my fault but I didn’t know how to fix that.
Afterward, I gave Maria a ride home. We parted with a vague agreement to see each other soon again.
For the first time since meeting Maria, I felt relieved to not be around her.
And then I felt guilty.
Chapter Eight
I didn’t feel right about the way that I’d left things with Lev. When I saw him for dinner, all the worries I’d felt when he left so abruptly had swept back over me, stronger than I’d realized. He hadn’t looked… comfortable. Even before his apology and my questions, there had been something off.
But Lev and I were still only new friends. To me, it felt like I’d known him for months, if not longer. Maybe it didn’t feel that way to him. He had every right not to include me in parts of his life if he didn’t want to.
That didn’t mean that I could switch off the worrying, of course. I genuinely felt concerned. I worried that he was bottling things up, as so many men I’d known did whenever emotions were concerned. I wanted Lev to have someone to open up to, in case that was what he needed.
But I had no proof that he needed a safe space. I was only going off my own assumptions. That wasn’t fair.
I should have handled it better. It wasn’t Lev’s responsibility to change things so that I would worry less. Nor would I want him to. I could compartmentalize whatever my feelings were in order to respect his.
I liked Lev a lot. I didn’t want to be a cause of anxiety. I had no intention of demanding that he act a certain way if it wasn’t what came naturally.
My friend Rosa had just returned from a trip to Greece. She was exhibiting photographs at a gallery in Madison. I invited Lev to join me, figuring that we’d have a built-in conversation topic until we could find our feet again.
> It was awkward at first. I was glad to see Lev, but I couldn’t help feeling there was still something hanging over our heads. I tried to interest him in stories of places I’d traveled to. My heart wasn’t in it.
We were more or less by ourselves, looking at an amazing panorama. I decided it was as good a moment as any.
“I’m sorry about my behavior at dinner,” I offered. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You were right, I wasn’t respecting what you were telling me.” I half-turned, offering him my most apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to push you. If you don’t want to talk about something, I promise, I’ll respect that better in the future.”
I hoped that my apology would clear the air, that we could go back to normal.
First, I had to see whether Lev was willing to accept it.
When he didn’t say anything, I worried my lower lip between my teeth. I didn’t have a backup plan for what to do if he didn’t accept my apology. Before I actually had to entertain the thought of figuring that out, Lev did speak.
“Okay.” He nodded.
It wasn’t exactly a lot but it did get to the point. I waited, in case Lev planned to say something else. In all the time I’d known him, he wasn’t one to say so little. Whether it was the way I looked at him or the pause I left, Lev gave a small sigh before speaking again.
“I understand that you worry. And I wish you didn’t,” he commented. “But I get that it’s not something that you can just choose not to do.” Turning to face me, Lev ran a hand through his hair. “Just trust me that I’m okay when I say I’m okay?”
It wasn’t necessarily going to be easy. In some ways, Lev and I were alike. We both had a flair for the dramatic, we both had passion and ambition when it came to our careers, and we were both dedicated to our families. Where we differed was in how we dealt with things.
I wanted to talk things out if they were bothering me. After my dad died, I had a lot of grief counseling. For me, it was important not to let emotions fester inside me until they exploded. But the same approach didn’t necessarily work for everyone.
“I’ll try,” I promised. “I won’t say that I’ll get it right every time. That wouldn’t be realistic.” I felt that Lev could understand that. Changing any behavior took time. Promising to turn over a whole new leaf overnight would just frustrate us both when that inevitably failed.
I smiled. “I trust that you’re okay now. I won’t ask any more questions about your friend.”
“Good.” He nodded and it seemed to finish the conversation. If I asked more about it now, it would put me in danger of pushing too. So I told myself to let it go. It wasn’t easy but it was what Lev had asked for. I wanted to show him that I respected that.
He nudged my shoulder then, in a way I recognized as playful. “So are you going to explain to me what this picture is all about?” he asked. “It’s pretty boring, could be improved by a narwhal,” Lev informed me and then frowned. “What’s narwhal in Russian?”
I laughed. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I never had much reason to talk about narwhals when I was living in Moscow. That was before Emily decided it was her duty to revitalize my wardrobe.” The narwhal sweater was less than a year old. It had been a Christmas present. I liked that every time I went to wear it, I thought about Lev. It made me smile.
“I don’t know if the picture is about anything,” I admitted. Rosa would probably tell me that it was. She and I had always looked at things very differently. I’d never been particularly good at finding ‘meaning’ in books or movies. I preferred a good straight-forward story with lots of action.
Studying the photograph again, I tipped my head as if that might help me understand. “I guess it’s about space?” I suggested, not very certain. “How you can see the hills for miles with no sign of human industry?”
Lev gave a hum that sounded thoughtful but might’ve just been unsure. “It’s still a bit…” He didn't say ‘dull’ but I could almost hear him thinking it. “I think if I was to buy one, I’d want one with more color,” he proclaimed. “Do you think I should buy one? To support your friend?”
I blinked at him. I hadn’t brought him to the gallery because I wanted him to support Rosa. He hadn’t even met Rosa. A tumult of feelings gathered in my stomach, each clamoring for my attention. It took me a moment to separate them out enough to even speak.
“That’s very - generous of you, Lev,” I said first. It was. I was touched that he would think of it. “I appreciate that you asked. I hadn’t even thought of it.”
Which was where all the other emotions were springing from. “Do you -” I frowned. “Is it something that people do? Bring you to things because they want you to spend money?”
I didn’t think Lev was accusing me of that. It just saddened me to think that anyone would be so mercenary about a friendship.
He paused to think about the question and then shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose some do,” he nodded. “I mean, I earn an NHL salary. It’s not like I can’t afford... stuff.” Even though I had no idea exactly how much Lev earned, I could guess that it was a lot more than I ever would. I had seen the sort of investments he wanted to make. Those alone were impressive.
Still, I hadn’t brought Lev here to buy stuff. He seemed to sense that that was what I was thinking. He shook his head. “I don’t mind,” Lev promised. “If I see something I like, I’m happy to buy it. I’m not great with art, but I know that my house could use some pictures on the walls. Why not something your friend made?”
He sounded so genuine. It warmed me to the core to think that he would buy something of Rosa’s, just because she had some connection to me. “I know you can afford it,” I agreed. “But I just brought you here to see it, because I knew some of the photographs would be beautiful.” I gave an almost guilty smile. “And because it would give us something easy to talk about.”
The tension between us seemed to be evaporating. If it wasn’t quite gone yet, I trusted that it would be. “So we’ll have a look. If you see something you like, you can buy it. But only if you see something you like.”
Rosa would be thrilled to have her work on the wall of an NHL player. I didn’t mention that. I didn’t want to sway Lev’s opinion.
“What was your childhood home like?” I asked. “Did your mama and dad have a lot of pictures on the walls?”
“Photographs, mostly. Of us, of my grandparents, some hockey stuff from my papa’s games,” Lev answered. “They still have a few of my childhood drawings framed on the walls,” he added shaking his head. “I was not very good at art, but it’s very sweet.” It was sweet. It made me wish I could see the drawings he’d made.
We walked to another picture and Lev titled his head. “I get this one more,” he informed me. It was a picture of a frozen lake. I wasn’t that surprised that it’d appeal to Lev more than the first panorama had.
“Does it remind you of home?” I teased. I knew that Russia had a more varied climate than simply ice and snow all year round. But plenty of people I’d met had never realized that Moscow could be as warm as California in July.
The thought made me smile. “That’s another thing I miss about Moscow, the flower festival,” I admitted. Madison had flowers outside the state capitol building. But it wasn’t quite the same.
The frozen lake was pretty. “Don’t you have your own family photos?” I asked. I didn’t remember many from the tour Lev had given me of his house. Maybe it was a generational thing. I had photos - from mine and Emily’s birthdays, as well as photos that Rosa had taken. A lot of my colleagues never bothered with the fuss of having digital snaps printed.
“Most of the photos I have are digital.” Lev shrugged. “And all of my childhood photos are in Russia.” He didn’t sound particularly bothered by it. I wondered if it was mostly that he hadn’t considered getting any from his parents. I could understand that. Thinking about family photos was probably easier once you had your own family to take pictures of.
I w
as wary of pushing more than Lev wanted to, so I was quiet for a few moments. “If you wanted something to hang on the walls, you could get them printed,” I suggested. Having done it myself, I knew it wasn’t complicated. Lev was smart, he’d be able to figure it out - if that was something he was interested in.
But maybe he preferred to keep his walls bare. “On the other hand, minimalism is all the rage,” I teased. “There’s even a Netflix documentary about it.” I made a mental note of the exhibit number for the photo Lev had liked, then led him towards the last few photographs.
“I don’t think I suit minimalism,” Lev proclaimed. “Too much drama,” he teased with a grin. It was nice that he could tease me again. The awkwardness seemed to have evaporated. “But yeah, I know I could print the pictures but... I don’t know, decorating my house the same way my parents do is probably just going to make me homesick.” He shrugged.
We moved on to yet another picture, this one of a night sky. “I like the idea of having art up. I don’t know much about art, but I’m not awful or anything.”
I didn’t know much about art either. Lucky for me, Rosa did. “When’s your birthday?” I asked. “I’ll make you a list of some nice art that’s available locally and in your price range.” I could have offered to buy Lev some art - but he could definitely afford to spend more than what my budget would stretch to. He’d get something much nicer if he bought it himself.
Besides, if it was hanging on his wall, he ought to be involved in picking it.
“September,” he answered. “But yeah, sure, that sounds good. Will you help me pick something?” Lev asked hopefully. It surprised me a little bit. That surprise must have shown on my face because he shrugged. “You’ve given me no indication that your taste is bad. You should help me pick,” he informed me.
Final Score (Madison Howlers #5) Page 8
